


A Scene From a Brighter Universe

by floatingearth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Family, Planet Sorgan (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingearth/pseuds/floatingearth
Summary: A glimpse into a world where Din gets to settle down with that beautiful young widow to raise their kids together, sitting there sipping spotchka.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera, Grogu | Baby Yoda & Winta
Comments: 20
Kudos: 81





	A Scene From a Brighter Universe

Summer on Sorgan is a beautiful thing. The krill are plentiful and fresh, unlike the salted ones they eat in the winters. The sun is a steady, warm thing. He is sitting on Omera’s front porch, on a wooden bench. She sits by his side, and the kids play in the garden in front of them. The world is bathed in the red light of a setting sun. Fireflies float in the breeze. It’s pleasant in a way that feels deeply unfamiliar. Something about it has Din on edge. Nothing good should last this long. One day, he will wake up and everything will fall apart again. 

“You know, you worry too much,” Omera tells him. Her voice is quiet, like she is telling some big secret, and it carries a hint of teasing.

“I worry enough,” he replies. Sorgan is safe in part because he keeps it that way. He worries, and he looks for things, and when he’s right, well. Din takes care of the problem.

“But you don’t need to worry. Not right now,” she stresses, reaching for his hand. She laces their fingers together. Even through a thick glove, the pressure is nice. Even on a mild summer evening, like tonight, so is the radiating warmth.

“I’m not,” he tells her.

“You’re a _wonderful_ liar,” she jokes. She always has this way of making him laugh, just a little. “Just relax, please. Or tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Things have been good for too long.” How in the whole vast universe does he explain it? He knows it doesn’t make sense. But he’s had better sleep on Sorgan than he has in a while. The days here are long, calm, and if he dares to admit it, happy. Though he has caught the occasional party of bandits or looters, the village has not seen a real attack since he first arrived. It’s been safe. It just feels wrong. Something horrible is going to happen and he knows it in his bones.

“You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Her voice drips with understanding. “I know. I was the same way when I first got here.”

“What?” He turns, looks her in the eye. “You told me Sorgan was your home.”

“It is.” She looked away, staring into the distance. With effort, her voice stays steady and even. “But there is more to this planet than just the one settlement. My daughter was born in another village. Very far away when you don’t have a ship. I doubt she even remembers it. At least, I hope that she doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” It is a story that does not want to be told. He has enough of those of his own to know not to pry. Din does not know what else to say. He tightens his grip on her hand and pulls her, gently, closer.

“It’s safe here, is what I’m trying to say,” she explains. “Just look at what we have.”

Beneath his chest plate, something melts. Winta folds her legs beneath her, in the field of long grass in front of them. She holds the little one’s favorite shiny ball just out of his reach. He hardly lets her take it. One three-fingered hand rests on her knee, for balance. Desperate, he stretches as far up as he can reach, waving his other hand through the air.

Finally, she holds the ball just a little too low for just a little too long. From the way she exaggerates her mistake and overacts her defeat, it’s obvious she is letting him win on purpose. It is the kind of thing one does with little children. Having won the prize, the foundling clutches it between his tiny hands. Wonder in his eyes, he stared at the mirrored surface of the ball. It warps the world. The reflections in it are distorted, out of proportion. Winta leans over and kisses him on the head.

She is so good with him. It brings a smile to his face.

Everyone in this village seems to like the child, and most respect Din himself. It is a dramatic change of pace from Nevarro. Besides his covert, he can think of nobody on that planet who would care if either of them died. Here, he has people who love him, and people he loves. There are people he trusts around the child.

A part of him is always going to worry when the kid is not in his line of sight. But he is reasonably sure that nobody in this village is going to sell the child to Imperials the next time Din’s back is turned. Omera, he knows, can take good care of the child, and Winta clearly loves him. It reminds him of somewhere else, a lifetime ago. He barely remembers the planet he was born on. Most of the memory is in images, feelings. Something about Sorgan feels the same way.

“They’re good kids.”

“They both are,” Omera agrees. “You know something? It’s a very good thing you two came here.” 

Din would never put his beskar to the side, not out in the open like this, where anyone can see. He took vows, and they mean too much to him to ever consider it. Still, he’s never been good with words, and a helmet makes it that much harder. He wants to tell her _thank you, I love you, I could never repay you if I spent every day of my life trying-_ but he doesn’t.

He feels exposed. By creed, he can not show his face. Something else keeps him from spilling out his feelings when he wants to. He can admit that kind of thing when it is just him and Omera. When it is quiet and alone, he can tell her anything, let the truth hang out to dry. Somehow, it is so much harder in the real world. Even if he knows she’ll understand what he’s trying to say, he can’t actually say the words he means.

“I am happy we did,” he says, instead. He hopes she gets it. “I’m going to stay here.”

Omera laughs. He feels it, or the vibrations of it, as much as he hears it. “How long did it take you to figure that one out?”

Behind his helmet, burning heat rises in his cheeks. Sorgan has been their home for far too long for that to be any kind of revelation. “Long enough.”

“I’ll tell you that I knew that one long before you did.”

“That’s probably true.” She usually does.

“That helmet of yours. It doesn’t hide your feelings nearly as well as you think.”


End file.
